


Chantry Guilt

by o0_TheMilkyBarKid_0o



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_TheMilkyBarKid_0o/pseuds/o0_TheMilkyBarKid_0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt written in response to a tumblr call to arms. Cullen, left to his own devices, inevitably allows his thoughts and hands to wander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chantry Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Please note this fic was written for a prompt - a call to arms for Cullen masturbation so please take into account that this is purely smutty solo-performing - also visit katerynthegrand on tumblr! A fantastic blog she has!

Cullen tried not to make a habit out of staying up to work into the wee hours of the morning; battling the effects of Lyrium withdrawls meant that what precious little sleep he got had to be savoured, if riddled with nightmares, and was one of the few things that kept him going when training, filing and managing the Inquisition forces.

But there would be little sleep for him, if any, as he made his weary way down to the kitchens to grab himself a pot of tea, then back into the brisk mountain air as he made his way to the barracks' tower.

_It was worth it_ , he thought, as he reminded himself of the hillside of rotas and edicts waiting for him on his desk. The reason for the ever-growing pile was his brief... _engagement_ earlier.

His stolen moment with their illustrious Inquisitor Trevelyan had cost him a night's sleep, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything. When he'd returned to his office after “talking” with her on the barracks, he felt as though it had been a scant few minutes away, but the desk and his messenger's guilty expression told a different story. Now, as he placed the pot of tea on his desk and poured himself a cup, Cullen sighed deeply and glared at all the paperwork.

Admittedly, he hadn't been able to concentrate on his work after she asked him to speak privately. His head was a mess – in the best possible sense – but it made for poor working conditions. Throwing more logs onto the fire, he locked his doors and carefully stripped off his armour, his arms aching. Breaking-in the newest recruits had taken a lot out of him, he hoped she hadn't noticed his stiff movements during their talk earlier; he didn't want to give her more cause to worry about him...

Down to a tunic and breeches, The Commander slumped wearily into his chair, sipped his tea and started to tackle the first pile of reports in from Emprise du Lion. It wasn't until the fire had burned down to a few embers and he'd downed the last of his tea that even half of the necessary paperwork was done. Some of it could be handled by Rylen, but Cullen preferred to do himself – less of a mess that way and he leaned on Rylen enough without giving him extra work. Leaning his head in his hands, he squinted in the candlelight at a list of requests for temporary leave from the ranks out by Sahrnia – some of the soldiers there were starting to feel the effects of being around the Red Lyrium for too long...

Cullen's eyelids were drooping. He leaned back in his chair and squeezed the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. There was no way he would be able to concentrate for the rest of the night anyway, if the day was any indication; he was too wound up to really sink his teeth into his work, it would probably be for the best if he just went to bed and tackled the rest of the requests in the morning.

But the thought of climbing into bed gave him pause; being aware of his own isolation after what happened on the battlements made him reconsider the rest. It had been... a very long time since he'd been alone.

Not in the sense of being _lonely_ , _Maker_ since kissing the Inquisitor he'd been feeling nothing but the first tentative threads of true connection since the Circle almost a decade ago. No, what Cullen was feeling was _not_ loneliness-

It was more of an awareness that he was _on_ his own, left to his own thoughts and devices for precious moment. In the Circle, no Templar was ever really left alone; when they weren't doing their rounds or tending to their duties, they mostly ate and slept together in communal quarters. Skyhold wasn't too different either; though he had his own bed, the only thing he used that space for was collapsing after a long day and when he wasn't in an exhausted slumber, he was probably having a nightmare.

Not much time to savour the feeling of being alone.

The quiet was... blissful. The light night-time breeze gently blew in under the bottom of the doors and through the cracks in the wood and stone. The hold was mostly silent save for the occasional footsteps of the guards on watch passing by and the squawks from the ravens in the tower. With a deep sigh that came from the bottom of his lungs, the Commander slid further into his chair and leaned back, letting his head roll over the edge. Any other time of the day he wouldn't allow himself the comfort of such a position lest it look too vulnerable; legs splayed, arms slack, head lolling over the edge - he was in heaven. A muscle popped in his back in appreciation of the slouch.

Cullen smiled for what felt like the first time in years. _What a day_ , he thought, _what a perfect, exhausting day_. Inquisitor Trevelyan was... a marvel. He'd been reliving that kiss over and over in his mind for hours – it was probably evident in the rambling half-assery of his reports that he clearly wasn't focused on them.

He'd been equal parts terrified and amazed at his own forthrightness with her. He was so sure he'd been too bold until he could feel her hands fisting against his armour. The kiss was laboured, powerful, and so _impossibly sweet_.

Slowly, Cullen reached up to brush the tips of his fingers against his mouth where it tingled in remembrance. She was... so beautiful. _So amazing_. He'd been so sure her over-familiarity with him was just in his head until Skyhold, until she started spending more time with him. Then there was no mistaking the sideways glances, the gentle touches, the secretive smiles. In a way that no other woman really had, she cared for him and made him feel - _well_... safe and powerful all at once.

Among other things...

Thoughts began wandering; from the softness of her dark hair to the fleshiness of her lower lip down the smooth, unblemished column of her olive _throat_ -

The Chantry was not a place for such idle fantasies. The sisters and clerics were quick to remind each and every one of them every day to keep others and themselves pure in thought. Sullying someone in the mind was as good as doing so in the eyes of the Maker, _for he knows your sins_ , and giving-in to the personal temptations of the flesh... they never said it was wrong, just that it was wrong to push aside coherent thought in favour of indulgences.

An idle, lustful thought was a wasteful one, when one could spend their time thinking of more important things, like their faith.

Still... some of the sisters and clerics took those ideals to an extreme. Cullen still felt that pang of guilt and shame whenever his thoughts turned indecent, and when he could feel the want growing in his gut at the thoughts of the Inquisitor's long, elegant neck and how it would feel to place his mouth just _there_ , under her jawline, he gasped audibly and gripped the wooden armrests of his seat.

Despite the Chantry and the Templars and the Maker... he wanted. Just like any man.

The years of training and service and faith taught him to push the thoughts away in favour of something more fulfilling. His heart started pounding like he was afraid the Grand Cleric was going to barge in and see him slumped, dazed and impossibly hard, but Cullen refused to let that part of his past dictate him any longer.

He was no Chantry boy anymore, not in the service of their pious rules and chaste attitudes. He willed himself to stay still, to allow his body to find peace in that feeling of somewhat soft and innocent desire, pushed the guilt down deep into his stomach and instead focused on the air as it travelled in through his nose, filling him from the inside out.

_She_ was worth more than that. _She_ was worth his consideration over his own fear of the Chantry. He owed her that much, at least.

Even if the thought of her made him hard as a rock, so strained he wondered if he could even sleep at all now that the erection had formed and pushed angrily against his breeches.

He could have gone to sleep, kept that soft innocent thought of her in his mind like a prayer to her, he could have let his night be just that and nothing more... but when would he ever get another moment to himself?

It had been so long since he had any sort of contact with a woman... though she wasn't anything like them, _no,_ she was something _more_. Something so powerful the thought of her arching neck had his hips rolling slightly off the chair. And he was _alone_ , finally, _blissfully_ alone.

Cullen wouldn't get the chance again.

So he allowed his thoughts to form unencumbered without the Chantry guilt edging it. They started chaste and innocent – they always do – wondering what the skin beyond her collar would feel like, wondering if there was something more to the soft sigh she uttered against his mouth as he'd pulled away after breathlessly kissing her. Those others were nothing like her; their awkward, desperate rutting was nothing like the frighteningly powerful thrill he got when thinking about that noise she made when he'd finally taken that chance and kissed her with a fervour he didn't think he'd ever have.

It was so long ago now that he barely remembered it. Sex was not a regular occurrence in his life, not even when he was on his own. There were so many excuses not to; exhaustion, stress, work, duty, faith-

But nothing was holding him back now. Nothing he would allow to.

So he kept that thought of her in his mind's eye, of the way that gentle wisp of hair would fall against her neck and the way her lips felt pressed to his and reached down with the hand previously, wonderingly on his mouth to slip past the waistband of his breeches, slowly, as though afraid he'd be caught.

It was hard to shake off the routine of the Circle and the Chantry. He'd lost count the amount of restless nights he had, rolling around in his bed, willing the erection to go away. Some of the others tried to be discreet but they always knew – there was no hiding anything or being discreet in the Templar quarters after all. That was why he sucked his stomach in to hold back the gasp and groan as he wrapped his hand around his cock in a smooth stroke, his head falling back against the wood of the chair. The pleasure lanced through him as he brought his fisted hand down and back up, straining against his palm and thought of her in such simple ways.

Her smile, the way her lower lip jutted out in defiance occasionally, the ruffle of her hair, the bright gleam in her eyes when she spoke with him – she was more than he deserved and more beautiful than he could fathom-

But he thought of it anyway.

It wasn't right to sully people with loathsome thoughts, they told him when he was younger, _you must always keep them pure in your mind_. But his thoughts weren't like the rutting, desperate moments with those others, he thought of her with reverence, as he gripped his cock with one hand and the chair with the other, near panting because surely it hadn't _ever_ felt _that_ good, had it?

His teeth sunk into his lip and he hissed through them, his jaw clenching, that old habit urging him to stay silent even though he wasn't trying to hide under the blankets in the Templar quarters anymore. _Maker_ it had been so long since he felt any sort of pleasure, even at his own expense, and now that the tension of what seemed like a lifetime was building in the pit of his stomach he worked his hand faster, his back arching, praying for some sort of release.

_This is_ _ **my**_ _body_ , he thought defiantly, _not a tool of the Chantry, not a toy for Uldred's demons to throw around. This is_ _ **mine.**_ For what felt like the first time, Cullen let go of that restraint and then her image was filling in those gaps in his thoughts. Naked, sensuous writhing body gripping him in place of his hand, that mouth open, gasping, crying his name.

His hips jerked up off the chair at that thought. His name on her lips, he wanted,  _ needed _ to hear her say it with an enraptured cry. Would it ever,...  _ Maker _ would she ever consider taking him to her bed?

Cullen deserved a few moments of peace that only ecstasy could bring, even if he was resigned to a fate of never doing it again. Her kiss was more than he could have hoped for and hoping for even more seemed like a fool's errand, but he would have this moment, and suddenly he didn't care about the  _ what if's _ and  _ how's _ of his situation, as long as he got to finish. So with the thoughts of her at the front of his mind, frozen on her face mid-orgasm, or how  _ tight _ she would feel if her long, coltish legs were clasped over his shoulders, he could feel it.  _ Completion _ , and it was so close.

He turned his head towards the chair, his muscles were so stained because the pleasure was way too good and he didn't really know what to do with it all other than thrust into his hand, so he just buried his head into the wood and breathed, feeling the coiling in his stomach tighten harder and harder until he was ready to burst apart.

Whatever reservations he had about coming were gone in the wake of needing the release. There was no Chantry, no Templars, no Mages anymore, just the idea of her wrapped around him, that gorgeous neck arching her head back, her mouth open, his name a desperate prayer on her lips. His breath caught hard and roughly in his chest as he jerked, his hand stilling on the head for that one blissful second when he just couldn't _move_ anymore. He was _coming_ with that thought of her, groaning low and deep in his throat, strangled when the noise escaped from between his teeth. _Coming apart at the seams_. Coming so hard his vision went black so he had to clench his eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation.

It had been too long; he continued to jerk as the last vestiges of his orgasm wrung out the energy from his body. He was panting like he'd just been run through training; his muscles burned and ached in his arms and legs, and as his body relaxed, a sick swoop of Lyrium cravings overcame him.

One by one, his fingers, toes, the muscles in his arms and in his thighs started to relax as he sank into the chair. If he focused on that, he could endure the cravings, luckily they were not so intense – but with them came that old familiar pang of guilt when his thoughts strayed back to the Inquisitor.

The Commander stood, glancing down in disgust at the mess he'd made of himself. Wearily, he noticed that the sky was turning that faint colour like the sun was starting to rise and he sighed as he dragged himself up the ladder to find his cold, empty bed.

Their... relationship – though he hesitated to call it that – was tentative at best, non-existent at worst, but he still held on to that little bit of hope that perhaps one day that bed could be warmed with her presence in it. The thought was both deeply sexual and entirely emotional.

Between the kiss and the one moment he finally had to himself, Cullen allowed himself to fall into his bed after stripping off his soiled clothes. He hoped the nightmares wouldn't come, hoped the fairies would visit him in the night and finish his paperwork for him.

Cullen hoped that this thing between him and the Inquisitor – whatever it was – was something more tangible than a stolen kiss and a few obscene, lonesome thoughts.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I do the occasional prompt and such, but no promises, I have too many words in my head right now and I'm more than a little obsessed with them.


End file.
